VII

So when Burns knocked, Will knit his brows,
  His window gap made scanter, 50
And said, ’Go rouse the other house;
  We lodge no Tam O’Shanter!’
‘We lodge!’ laughed Burns.  ’Now well I see
  Death cannot kill old nature;
No human flea but thinks that he
  May speak for his Creator!

VIII

’But, Willie, friend, don’t turn me forth,
  Auld Clootie needs no gauger;
And if on earth I had small worth,
  You’ve let in worse I’se wager!’ 60
’Na, nane has knockit at the yett
  But found me hard as whunstane;
There’s chances yet your bread to get
  Wi Auld Nick, gaugin’ brunstane.’

IX

Meanwhile, the Unco’ Guid had ta’en
  Their place to watch the process,
Flattening in vain on many a pane
  Their disembodied noses. 
Remember, please, ’tis all a dream;
  One can’t control the fancies 70
Through sleep that stream with wayward gleam,
  Like midnight’s boreal dances.

X

Old Willie’s tone grew sharp ’s a knife: 
  ’In primis, I indite ye,
For makin’ strife wi’ the water o’ life,
  And preferrin’ aqua vitae!’
Then roared a voice with lusty din,
  Like a skipper’s when ’tis blowy,
’If that’s a sin, I’d ne’er got in,
  As sure as my name’s Noah!’ 80

XI

Baulked, Willie turned another leaf,—­
  ’There’s many here have heard ye,
To the pain and grief o’ true belief,
  Say hard things o’ the clergy!’
Then rang a clear tone over all,—­
  ’One plea for him allow me: 
I once heard call from o’er me, “Saul,
  Why persecutest thou me?"’

XII

To the next charge vexed Willie turned,
  And, sighing, wiped his glasses:  90
’I’m much concerned to find ye yearned
  O’er-warmly tow’rd the lasses!’
Here David sighed; poor Willie’s face
  Lost all its self-possession: 
’I leave this case to God’s own grace;
  It baffles my discretion!’

XIII

Then sudden glory round me broke,
  And low melodious surges
Of wings whose stroke to splendor woke
  Creation’s farthest verges; 100
A cross stretched, ladder-like, secure
  From earth to heaven’s own portal,
Whereby God’s poor, with footing sure,
  Climbed up to peace immortal.

XIV

I heard a voice serene and low
  (With my heart I seemed to hear it,)
Fall soft and slow as snow on snow,
  Like grace of the heavenly spirit;
As sweet as over new-born son
  The croon of new-made mother, 110
The voice begun, ‘Sore tempted one!’
  Then, pausing, sighed, ’Our brother!